


Stars

by Jumpp



Series: Flashfire [1]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: BLU Team - Freeform, Flashfire - Freeform, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Relationship(s), Romance, lots of cussing, mentioned heavy/medic, probably too much drama, self hating, time period views
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 18:29:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4716200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jumpp/pseuds/Jumpp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People's hearts are fragile things, some's more than other's.  </p><p>Pyro gave Scout his- and in an effort to preserve his image, Scout broke it, and broke his own in the process. Now everything's extra fucked up, Scout's secret is out, and he has to learn to either move on or learn how to say sorry, and hope that's enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lava

**Author's Note:**

> I worked hard on this. This is also my first time writing anything with romance.

Scout didn't know what it was, but it sure felt like love.

The gentle words, the butterfly kisses on his neck, the soaring feeling he got whenever their lips touched, and above all else—the sex. To be honest, that was probably what kept Scout around, the wild sex and the feeling it left that lingered for days. The hot, light feeling that flopped in his chest whenever he thought about them, the way his pulse freaked out whenever their hands touched.

Yeah, it felt a lot like love. Scout had a hard time admitting it because he was probably in love with a man. Not just any man, a man in a gas mask. A man who painted rainbows and wore pink underwear, a man with the most girly fucking flower tattoo on his back and a man with minty strawberry breath. Pyro, the freak that played with fire like he played with Scout.

When he was little, his mother would take him and all of his brothers to church. It’s name was unimportant; it was like any other church, but he could remember a pastor with cream-colored hair telling about the faggots, the homosexuals. How to watch out for them, how they were sinners, and how to ignore them. Scout and all his brothers believed that. He was raised a good church boy, but now look at what he was; at least once a week he found himself in bed with a dude. The thought itself made him sick, but there wasn't any denying it. He was a fag, too. If his brothers found out, they'd disown him. If the rest of the team found out, they would treat him like a freak show, like Pyro.

He didn't want to be like Pyro. For a man he loved so much, Scout also hated him.

Scout would've cut off the relationship before it even fucking started if it wasn't for that face. The perfect eyes, the jawline, the freckled skin and curly hair. Pyro had the kind of face that almost belonged on a chick but it looked so perfect on him.

Scout never liked women, not like most men. He's flirted with several, bedded a couple, but that was all fake. He knew it then and he knew it now. The thought made him want to scream, it made him want to kick and yell and throw tantrums so big the whole base could hear. It made him want to run clean across the desert and never look back, but he couldn't do that.

Something about that man was intoxicating. He hated himself for it, but he couldn't get enough. And at least, if he were to go to hell, he and Pyro could go together.

...

One week in Sawmill they had almost been caught.

It was one of this spur-of-the-moment things, the kinda thing you know is stupid before you even do it but you do it anyway because you need to. Because it feels good.

He and Pyro were having a make-out session in one of the hallway closets. It was before dinner, while they were both still dressed in their clothes from the match earlier that day. Pyro's mask was on the floor.

For the longest time Scout wondered why Pyro chose to wear that mask around everyone. Now he was happy for it. He felt privileged he was the only one that got to see Pyro's face. Engie, maybe the Doc were the only other two that might have once or twice, but Pyro took off the mask for Scout and only Scout.

While in the closet, Sniper came walking by calling their names. What for, Scout hadn't a clue, but he was right outside the fucking closet.

Pyro was a mess. He probably wanted to get caught, wanted everyone to know Scout and him were in the same boat. He was making enough noise to wake the dead and the only way for Scout to shut him up was to cover his mouth and nose with his hand and hope he got the message.

Thank God Sniper didn't check inside the closet. Why would he? In Sniper's mind, there was absolutely no reason the check the closet. Scout couldn't help but think about what would've happened if Sniper had opened the door…what if Scout's secret—their secret, got out?  
Sniper still didn't notice anything and walked on. Perhaps he only pretended not to hear and just ignored it. Hard to tell.

The two cleaned themselves up a bit, Pyro put on the damn mask, and they split up for the night.

...

Two weeks after that in Teufort, Scout was pretty damn sure Engineer knew. Whether he'd found out on his own—likely, as he's good at reading subtle cues—or if Pyro told him—equally as likely, as Pyro hangs around Engie almost as much as he hangs around Scout—he knew.

The man gave Scout sideways glances on the field. Raised eyebrows and odd looks. Threatening looks. Cautionary looks. Engineer knew, and as if to prove it, he called Scout into his workshop one night after dinner. The late-night desert air was thick with the sound of crickets and the stars out the window were beautiful, though in Engie's workshop that all seemed miles away.

Pyro quite liked looking at the stars, Scout knew. Just the other day Pyro was talking about getting constellation tattoos on his chest.

Engineer then handed the kid a beer, sat him down on one of the crates in his workshop of elaborate and miscellaneous things, and said something that Scout hasn't stopped mulling over in his head since.

"Listen, I don't give a rat's ass what ya'll are doin' behind closed doors, but know this. Pyro ain't got much, and he's told me you're somethin' special. You do somethin to hurt 'em, an—"

"Whoa, wait just a minute, what are you yammering on about?" Scout forced a laugh that sounded fake even as it left his throat. "Dude, I like chicks, not fairies who play with fire, we clear?"

"No, boy, are we clear? You mess him up and you'll be seein' pain six ways from Sunday."  
Every part of Scout was shaking.

"Jesus, yeah, we're clear, alright? I don't have a fuckin clue what yous talkin' about, but sure, we're clear."

Scout stood up with all the grace of an elephant and felt so lightheaded that he struggled to keep balance. As he left, Engineer's glare burrowing into the back of his head as he walked away left a feeling of guilt so thick he could taste it.

..

It got worse. Only a week after the incident with Engineer, Spy noticed a hickey on Scout's neck. He noticed it before even Scout did. Whereas most people would've ignored it, of fucking course Spy wouldn't have done that. The asshole took two fingers and pressed them right up against the mark, in case Scout didn't know (he actually didn't know, but he pretended he did).

"Who's the lucky lady?" he taunted, for both of them knew there wasn't a woman for miles around. The taste of utter hatred filled Scout's mouth, and he practically growled at the taller man. Spy smirked that shit-eating smirk of his and held his hands up in mock-defense.

Scout's voice was like thin glass, wibbly and wobbly, fragile and shaped like shards.

"...You're not gonna tell no one, right?" Scout knew Engineer wouldn't tell anyone, and he was pretty sure Engie was the one person Pyro would tell, but Spy? Spy might just blab to the whole world.

The most frightening thing was how the man didn't answer. He straightened his tie, muttered something about how he hoped Scout was using condoms, as if he cared, and left Scout by himself to brood.

...

Later that night, Pyro made his way into Scout's room.

As soon as the other man shut the door behind him, Scout exploded. When their fling first started, they made an agreement—no visible marks. Didn't mean shit for Pyro, who held up in a mask and suit all day, but for Scout it was huge.

Fiercely, he told Pyro how Spy noticed, how he'd been wandering around all day with a damn hickey and everyone probably noticed. His words were like lava gushing from through clenched teeth.

Pyro acted like he thought it mattered for a couple of minutes and let Scout vent, till he went from molten lava to warm stone. Then all he wanted was to get Scout's clothes off.

In all honesty, that was what Scout had wanted, too.

...

Pyro handled the next close call less than a week later. The team was celebrating a victory with seven cases of beer and Medic's juice box, turned up all the way. Scout didn't bother drinking with any of the guys, no, just Pyro. Everything he was doing now was with just Pyro.

He wondered when that had happened. He used to talk to everyone and now he probably seemed like a cagey freak.

Demoman came over and sat by the two of them, growing tired of everyone else. The man could hold liquor ridiculously well and looked as though he wasn't even slightly buzzed when he was on his fourth. They had casual conversations. Pyro mumbled along too, even though God himself wouldn't be able to tell what the fucker was saying.

Then Demoman outright asked if they were fucking each other. He wasn't drunk, he wasn't mad, he wasn't asking to cause them pain. He just asked.

It made sense for him to ask. They had been hanging around each other, palling around like two ducks in their own pond. But the old hickey, Scout knew, was probably what gave them away.

As if two people could have an entire conversation with one look, Pyro did everything Scout hoped he would and then some.

After smacking his knee, Pyro dropped to the floor laughing. Uncontrollable, eerie, predictable and spilling out of the mask all at once like a dam break. The kind of laugh that that rattles teeth and makes the hair on the back of necks go up. It was cold.

Scout tittered along.

Once Pyro gained control of himself, Scout had to resist the urge not to pick him off the floor. Pyro got up by himself—a bit slow, for he was at least tipsy—and turned to Demo.

"Memmfo, Mmf ah mlesmphban."

Demo smiled and laughed, and from then on, they proceeded to have a good rest of the night.  
Scout didn't; that was too close. What if everyone else would soon find out? I was getting too obvious. Shit, Engineer and Spy fucking knew, and Demo—fuck. Scout's palms were sweaty as he set down his drink and excused himself.

The young man locked himself in his room the rest of the night.

...

Pyro came into his room at around midnight. He took off the mask immediately. The suit followed, revealing slender shoulders and a cat-like build. Smooth skin. The coneflower tattoo that Scout was beginning to like. No underwear, for a change. Gentle freckles that went everywhere. Hair so blond it was snowball-white. Beautiful, probably the most beautiful man had ever seen, but this was the last time Scout wanted to see him.

Things were getting too complicated. Too involved. The team was noticing. There, with Pyro naked in front of him and the anticipation of sex in the air, Scout told Pyro that he didn't want this anymore.

They were done. They were through. And it hurt to say, it hurt like needles stabbing his very being, but it hurt Pyro so much more.

"Is, is it because of the Demo thing? We-we handled it, please, don't do this to—"

"It's not just the Demo thing, alright? It’s everything. This, this is freakin' wrong anyway."

"Scout, come on, p-please—"

"Keep your voice down, Soldier's right next door, you know. He sleeps heavy, but that don't mean shit if he ain't asleep yet. Heavy's just across the hall, too."

"Don't-t change the s-subject." God. If Pyro's stutter never got on his nerves before it certainly was now. 

"I ain't changin' the subject, alright? Jesus Christ Pyro, I'm sorry, okay? I'm so fuckin' sorry, but this is it. I...I can't do this anymore." Scout took a breath and his body shook ominously, like a low-magnitude earthquake. "I'm done. We're done. I don't wanna be a fag like this. Just...scram."

"Fine, then. You, you think I need y-you? The h-hell I do, _I need you like I need a hole in my head,_ you fucking, you fuckin—" Pyro's voice failed him. The worst sound in the world was the sound someone's voice made before they started crying. The high-pitched, wavering crack. Tears didn't come, but the shaking shoulders and scrunched-up face did.

Even when crying, the man looked like a movie star, thought Scout, and he wondered if this was perhaps the worst thing he's ever done or the long-awaited solution to a mistake that should've been fixed before it had even happened.

Clutching his suit and mask to his chest, the other man ran out the door and slammed it behind him. Stomping. Scout waited to hear Pyro's squeaky door open, but instead there was just more stomping. A door opened, not a squeaky one, and Scout realized with distaste that Pyro had gone to Engineer's door. Predictable. He was going to tell Engie all about it. Cry to fucking Dell, and in return the man would baby him and treat him like his child. Pyro hadn't even bothered to get dressed before stomping over, the fucktard.

Scout knew that he'd have a ray of Texas Sunshine to deal with in the morning.

No one got much sleep that night.

...


	2. Fragile

The next day was hard. Hard to focus. Hard to get up. Hard to even breath, with the tight feeling gripping his chest. Scout slept in, missing breakfast and holding up in his room till it was showtime and he had to get on the field.

He didn’t see Pyro, who clearly wasn’t fighting today, and pretended not to see everyone else. Some of them, nearly all of them, were looking at him kinda funny.  

All through the day, Scout fought like shit, and spent thirty minutes of the time playing hard to get with the RED spy before he decided that it would be best to stay in his base for the day and practice defense. It was a shit decision, practicing defense. He knew, but didn’t care.

And so Scout died. Hard to tell what it was that killed you when coming out of respawn sometimes, but the last thing he remembered was wandering into the courtyard by the BLU sentry. Maybe a spy got him, he knew those made habits of hanging around Sentries.

Ten minutes later and Scout woke up in respawn again. Not even lunchtime yet and he was drained, emptier than the cloudless sky. The last thing he remembered what beating the RED spy’s skull in with his bat. He made a good, solid hit. The kind of hit that ensures the smug bastard isn’t coming back with that damn dead ringer. Then Scout was backstabbed while still looking down at the RED spy’s body, and it was twitching.

Fast forward another twenty minutes when he stumbled into the courtyard, his team’s courtyard, and saw Engineer for the first time that day. Engie was standing behind his sentry with his fingers were latched onto the machine’s controls. Two beeps later Scout was reduced to a blood splatter in the dirt.

After the third respawn everything was a blur.

...

Teamwork was a fragile ecosystem. Without the pyro, and with Scout somehow being less useful than the guy who wasn’t there, the team lost.

The Scout was only dimly aware of the announcer's shrill voice announcing BLU’s failure.

...

He skipped dinner.

...

Late that night and Scout had to eat. He took his chances and ventured out of his room and into the kitchen, as quiet as a church mouse.

Heavy was in the kitchen, likely having the same idea of a midnight snack. The two kept to themselves as Scout rummaged through the fridge, the hunger like a rabid coyote in his gut.

Heavy’s voice was a grumble, much like that of lion but not unfriendly. “There is extra sandvish on top shelf.”

He took it. “Thanks man.”

“Hmmf. Sit.” The giant gestured to the chair across from himself.  

Scout bit his lip and ignored him.

“The nickname Heartbreaker does not fit little man.”

Scout walked away.

...

The night was lonely.

Scout couldn’t help but think that if he could go back and time, he’d fix this. If he could go back and time and undo this, then he’d have it so Pyro was laying right next to him.

God, his bed felt so empty. He fucked up. He really fucked up.

A couple days ago, he was regretting ever starting a relationship with Mr. Fucking Loony Toons. Now here regretted ending it. It was consuming him.

He recalled the conversation with Heavy he had minutes before. Heavy knew, calling him heartbreaker, trying to, to fucking lecture him. And Engie knew, as did Spy. Demo probably picked it up. Hell, he could expect his secret out among the whole team. The whole reason he hid his fling, the whole reason he broke up with Pyro, was so the team wouldn’t think he was a faggot.

Now they knew he was a faggot and a jackass.

Scout wouldn't sleep that night- nothing even close. His head and thoughts were far too busy for that.

He was a heartbreaker. All those pretty girls back home- hell, he tried so many. Each one, he thought the attraction would come eventually. But the attraction didn’t come. Not when Scout kissed all those pretty girls, or when he slept with them. Not even when he held them in his arms and treated them like they meant the world. He dumped every single one of them. Crushed them. They didn’t do shit to deserve it either- he as the one that was fucked up. Once Pyro came around and he actually did have that attraction, he still dumped the poor bastard.

He broke people.

Maybe, the young man wondered, he deserved what was coming at him.

...

His face was a mess of snot with sunken red eyes. His thoughts were mud. His shoulders shook and with every hiccup he cursed. In the early hours of the morning, hours before anyone else would be up, Scout made his way out of the base, under all the stars that seemed to be judging him. Looking up was looking at a million bright tiny eyes of God.

In his weakest moment, they boy made one of his bravest decisions. He came up to the scuffed up payphone out by the road. It was the only phone around for miles, as far as he knew. The old phone was the only way the team’s of both BLU and RED could call outside places. Scout half expected Sniper to be there, the man used the thing so much.

With three dollars worth of dimes in his hands, he called his mother. Punching in the phone number was muscle memory. God knew what time it was back home in boston, but true to the woman’s nature, Scout’s mother picked up with undertones of exhaustion and annoyance in her voice. “Who the hell is this? You got any idea what time it is here-”

“Ma.” He breathed. “Ma, I, I need you to listen to me.”

She did, knowing who it was without asking, and he started talking like a faucet that wouldn’t turn off. His voice wobbled and sputtered incomplete sentences as he explained to her what he had done, what he was. He didn’t give her any chances to interrupt as he spilled his own soul, bucket fulls at a time. She deserved to know, he explained, that her baby boy wasn’t what she thought. He had been sleeping around with a man, and not only that, but he wrecked the best thing he ever had, too, by ending whatever he had with that man.

“I’m guilty as sin, Ma.” The endless sky above shoved a weight on his shoulders, scrutinizing and eating him up. The wetness in his eyes threatened to spill over again as he waited for the only woman he ever truly cared about to respond.

White noise from the other end of the line.

“Ma? God, I know I fu-messed up. But say somethin, please.” Sweaty fingers put another dime into the payphone.

She was taking to long to answer. He could hear her breathing, deep, long breaths. Words were on the tip of her tongue, he knew it, but she hadn't answered yet.

He got more nervous, if at all possible, and the judgment from both the stars above and the woman on the phone put a tenacious grip on his chest. He couldn't breath. "M-Ma?"

His mother took a few seconds too long to answer, and was only starting to say something when her son slammed the phone back on it's hook with enough force to dent it.

Well, fuck her, he thought.

...

He was too tired to fight the next day. Too tired to notice the stares from his teammates, too. Too tired to capture the intel, too tired to stand up straight. Too tired to hold his gun steady. Scout wasn’t too tired to notice that Pyro wasn’t on the field again.

Scout died, as is the punishment for having his head in the clouds among a battlefield. The entire day was one long visit to respawn. After the fourth in thirty minutes, all on top of a night without sleep, he couldn’t think straight. The day melted into one big dream.

Medic once said that respawning too much too fast could make someone sick. Everyone’s experienced it from time to time, and now it was just Scout’s turn again.

...

At the end of the day, after a brutal defeat, Sniper put a giant callous of a hand on his shoulder and suggested he make his way to the infirmary. Scout went to bed instead.

...

In the middle of the night, his fever turned high. Red rimmed eyes. Sticky, pale skin. Ragged, frazzled breathing. Sweat poured from him, as much sweat as when he tried to do the four minute mile.

_‘Pyro ain’t got much, and he’s told me you’re somethin’ special.’ ‘You mess him up and you’ll be seein’ pain six ways from Sunday.’_

Scout had now seen that pain and was feeling it all over. He wondered ever so briefly if this was the pain Engineer spoke of, or if this was just goddamn karma and Engie’s threats were yet to be fulfilled.

Then, as subtle as a cricket chirp in the night, a door squeaked. Scout knew what that squeak use to mean, and the hopeless feeling returned. The longing. He heard footsteps, delicate like a dancer’s, and then they stopped. Outside his door. His heart sped up and Scout wasn’t sure if something very good or very bad was about to happen. A little hope in his gut formed, an idea that maybe this mess would fix itself. He held his breath.

It broke his heart when nothing happened at all. No knock, no meek little ‘hello?’ and no timid opening of his door.

Both Scout’s heart and head hammered, each their own drum playing to a different, frantic beat. “You, you can come in, you know,” Scout murmured just loud enough for someone in the hall to hear.

Nothing happened. After a few seconds, the footsteps started again, leading away, and a door squeaked shut.

Scout had a rough time getting to sleep.

...

When morning came, the young man couldn’t find it in himself to rise. He was lethargic, his limbs like molasses and his head aching but just as slow. His body was acting wrong. Bad. Sick.

Yeah, fuck, he was sick. That’s what this was. This had surpassed heartsickness too, though Scout was sure that played a part. How many times did he fucking die yesterday? He’d never had respawn sickness like this.

The young man once again tried to get up, and succeeded in sitting. He tried to stand with legs that shook like leaves in the wind. His knees, they wobbled and quivered like an old man’s. Scout quickly learned that he couldn’t stand.

He was a goddamn scout, fasted in Teufort. He used his legs for a living. He could run a goddamn four minute mile (pretty much), but at the moment he couldn’t so much as stand. Pitiful. He collapsed back into bed. He decided that the team would work without him (they probably didn’t want him) and he could take a sick day.  

...

He couldn’t recall falling asleep, but Scout came to with the sound of bullets. He heard distant guns. Explosions. As he expected, the day’s fight went on without him.

...

Hours later and someone is pounding on his door. Really pounding too, like that door owed them money. Scout, blinking the sleep out of his eyes, realized two things, the day’s battle was over, and the person knocking on his door had probably been knocking for quite a while without a response.

His voice creaked, but creaked loudly. “What?!”

“I said get out here you yellow-bellied son of a bitch, how long do you plan on staying in there? Trying to ignore me while I’m at the damn door? It’s time to come and face the music, boy.”

At some point Scout knew that Engineer would come to him with a bone to pick but why it had to be now of all times, Scout didn’t know. He did his best to sit up, but standing up sounded like running a marathon.

“Engie? I, ah- Man. Open the door. I n-” He stood up with all the stability of a tree in a hurricane. One step. Two step. Learning to walk again. Then he fell with a big thump, and no way the other man didn’t hear it. Scout’s chin scraped against the floor.

“You got one hell of a nerve. Come out here- we have something to settle.”

“I can’t.” He yelled back.

“Boy my patience is just about  _through_ -”

“No, like, I can’t. I need-.” He could already hear Engie stomping away. “-I can’t get up.”

Scout heard the ice shards in engineer’s voice as he yelled from down the hall. “You gotta set this right eventually!” And he was gone.

And instead of being stuck in bed, Scout was now stuck on the floor. Dear god, he thought after a few attempts to lift himself, I can’t get up. I really can’t do it.

With a bit of effort the young man pulled a blanket down from the bed, exhausted himself a bit further after trying to rise again, and then waited on the floor.

It was hours before he heard anyone stir. Everyone had probably been off eating dinner and cleaning up on the other side of the base. When Scout heard swift footsteps from the hall, he decided it was a good time to make some noise. He didn’t care who it was, as long as they helped him off the damn floor.

It was just Scout’s luck, too, when Spy was the one to answer his calls for help. He opened the door and peered down at Scout as if he was a bug on his shoe. The whisp of a man was unsure if he should be laughing or calling the medic.

“I’m sick.” Scout explained.

“...I can see that.”

“I can’t get up.”

The smug son of a bitch was holding back a smile. He found this funny. “Yes, that’s nice.”

“Can you take me to medic? Or maybe, maybe shoot me?”

“Respawn won’t fix most sicknesses.” The man stated. “The worst fix for respawn illness in another respawn.” Scout knew that, he really did, but being dead for a little bit might save him from this embarrassment.

“Medic then?” Scout asked.

The man leaned to the floor, and grabbed one of Scout’s arms, and with little effort, he hoisted the young man up, all without making eye contact once. “Yes, medic then.” Scout wrapped one arm around the others shoulders and the two made their way out the door and through the hallway. After thirty seconds of this, they could tell it wasn’t working. The masked man then picked Scout up, hoisting him over his shoulder so with every step his bony shoulder jutted into Scout’s ribs and gut.

Scout never realized how secluded Medic’s lab in Teufort was. So out of the way of the barracks and living quarters that is was almost part of the battlefield, saved by thirty feet and a fence. Spy took him to the door of the lab, knocked twice, and once the door opened he waltzed right in like he owned the place. Scout hated that. He hated so much about this man.

Next thing Scout knows, three men are helping him on a table. Medic is taking his blood pressure while one giant mit of a hand is trying to take his temperature with a tiny little thermometer. Spy had left, Scout realized, and been replaced with Heavy who was doing whatever the doctor said. They were talking to each other. What about, he couldn’t tell. The sound in his ears were too fuzzy and for a moment he couldn’t even tell if they were speaking english.

And then Medic was calling him stupid, scolding under his breath and handing him a bottle of pills while still talking gibberish.

The boy looked at them,. “I res’awned a lot yesterday.”

Medic’s gaze was hard, showed little sympathy, and wavered only a little bit in what could be annoyance. “Yes,  _Dummkopf,_  take two of these every three hours, bedrest, lot’s of fluids-”

“Eat.” Heavy said, stone faced.

“ _Ja_ , when you can manage it, get something in you-”

“Sleep.”

“ _Ja_ , you can expect to miss the fighting both tomorrow and the day after-”

“Talk to Pyro.”

“ _Ja_ \--  wait, Heavy, please-”

“Little man cried much. Neither Pyro or Scout helps on battle field-”

“What Herr Heavy is trying to say Scout, though it isn’t his business,” Medic sent a quick glare to the larger man. “Is that the team is having troubles performing short two, and with Engineer as...”

“Mad.”

“Mad as he is-”

“We are getting destroyed, we look like whiny, weakling babies. Red laughs at us.”

His head thundered. Scout’s throat was very tight when he tried to reply. “Shutup,” he croaked as medic shoved two bright pills in his face. He bat the hand away. “You ain’t got no business in what me’n Pyro had. I’ll be back out as soon as I can feel my feet again an pullin’ more than my fair share again, and how Pyro’s working ain’t my problem.”

“Just talk to little fireman.”

Scout wanted to- he did, he realized, but he made a face at Heavy anyway.

“Perhaps you deserved this,” Medic said as he grabbed scout by the face and shoved two pills in. Scout couldn’t even taste them.

“‘uck both of ya.” Medic then shoved a glass of water to his lips, and held it there till the young man found his hands and took it for himself. Heavy decided he was done left quietly, Scout hadn’t realized he left till he heard the click of the infirmary door.

A bird cooed, and landed on Medic’s shoulder. “Heavy has some point.”

He scowled. “Yeah? Well, fuck ‘em, alwight? This isn’t something I want lectured on.”

“And this isn’t something the the team wants to deal with. It’s tiring Scout, when both of you run around useless because of teenage love life problems. You are young, both of you, but-”

“Yeah? That what you old farts think?  _Teenage problems_? That a joke?” He coughed. “Ha. Haha. I know this ain’t no goddamn high school-”

“Do you, Herr Scout? Since the minute you got on the team you’ve been worrying what the rest of the team thinks of you. This only escalated once pyro appeared.”

“Yeah? Well damn right I’m worried what you fuckers think of me! I spend half of my time with you guys if youse suddenly treated my like a, a, a _fag_ , then shit would get pretty miserable.”

“Scout, what I’m trying to tell you, is that no one here cares about what you do behind closed doors! You  _Blödes Arschloch!_ When Heavy and I got particularly intimate the team didn’t bat an eye!-”

“What you’re trying to tell me is- wait.” Scout had to clear his thought and take another sip of water before his voice worked again. “You an... You and the big guy?”

“J _a_ , you blind  _Schwein_.”

“Oh.”

...

Scout hung out in the infirmary only a little longer. As soon as he could use his legs properly again, he stumbled out, heard the medic (who had turned his attention to the birds in way to ignore Scout) mutter something about good riddance.

The boy walked real slow for a while, clutching a bottle of pills with white knuckles. About halfway back to his room, Demoman found him and took pity, half carrying him back to his quarters. Ten minutes later the scott knocked on his door with a glass of water and something that was probably supposed to be soup.

Scout couldn’t taste the soup. He said thank you anyway.Out of the corner he saw Demo saying something, with furrowed eyebrows and concern the one eye. He couldn’t even tell what the man was saying. He left soon enough.

Exhaustion soaked into Scout’s bones, thick, heavy, and rubbery. He sunk into the bed, closed his eyes and tried to think of nothing at all. Tried.  But sleep wouldn’t come, which wasn’t a surprise.

He had a lot to think about


	3. Stereotype

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In wich Scout's a Bitter Betty and Pyro is a cutie pie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The long awaited third part.

Scout was sick and Pyro couldn’t help but feel that the fuckface deserved it. In fact, Pyro hoped Scout was puking his guts out right then. Pyro hoped Scout puked whenever he thought of him. But, he supposed that was just being bitter. When he expressed this to Engineer for perhaps the third time that night, Engie didn’t respond. He was far too interested in whatever mechanical bullshit he had on his table for Pyro, or so it seemed.

Pyro knew that wasn’t the case. Engineer was flat out ignoring him. He listened to Pyro cry and complain too much to deal with it at the moment, he’d lost sleep trying to council Pyro, and now he was going to lose himself in his machines for a little while to get away from it all. To get away from Pyro.

Everyone seemed to want to get away from Pyro, and he couldn’t blame them. He was a little mopey lately. Pyro didn’t want to be mopey. He was supposed to be candy and flowers and sugary sweet. He was supposed to be hyper and melodic, eager and the very embodiment of glee.

He’d get there. In time, he would get there again. Engineer told him that nothing ever hurt forever. Pyro grunted. Perhaps nothing hurt forever but that didn’t make it stop hurting _now._

Engineer cleared his throat, once, twice, then looked over to Pyro sitting on the crate off to the side. “Firefly, wouldya make yourself scarce for a while? I’m gonna be using power tools, gonna get mighty loud.”

Pyro considered ignoring him, like Engineer did to him a minute before.

Knuckles wrapped on his mask a few times. “Smokey? Anyone in there?”

He batted the hand away, “Hm ghhng, hm ghhng.” He got, leaving the workshop and almost but not quite slamming the door behind him. For whatever reason, he never did hear those power tools.

...

His room reeked. Reeked like a sick person. Like acetone, like fevers. It also smelled like every day after the war ended and like every jog her ever took. It did not, Scout somehow came to realize, smell like Pyro anymore. There was no strawberry smell. No smoke. No lighter fluid and flowery perfume. Before now he wasn’t never aware his room ever smelled like Pyro before but now that it was gone, it felt like something was truly over. Truly done.

But he wouldn’t let it be done yet. Maybe the big guy wasn’t a total blowhard, maybe Scout really ought to talk to Pyro. He made a face in the dark. Pyro was always hard to talk to about anything. He’d usually get distracted halfway through the conversation and either start getting naked or start tracing flowers into his suit. And when Pyro talked back it took him forever to speak because he stuttered and got off track like a goldfish.

Though, now, now maybe Pyro would listen. Listen to everything Scout had to say, if he could stomach it. After what they had been through, even if Scout was the one that messed up, Pyro owed it to him to at least listen.

Scout sighed to no one. He was thinking like he already knew what to say. He didn’t know a thing.

So he tried to think of a the things he would say, he carefully selected each word. But after only a few minutes of that, his head was booming to hard to continue.

...

 

Scout didn't get to sleep until both hands on his alarm clock reached high. After that, he was out like a light.

...

Pyro didn’t dream but everyone said he sleepwalked. Truthfully, Pyro didn’t sleepwalk either. He paced. Pyro paced whenever he couldn’t sleep. He let everyone believe he just was sleepwalking but Scout was the only one who knew differently.

Sometimes a man just can’t sleep.

He left his room, clad in both the mask and suit. The door squeaked shut behind him. The hallway’s floorboards strained underneath his feet.

He walked through the hallway, towards the cafeteria, but he found himself outside Scouts door none the less. It would be so easy. He could just knock. He could crack the door open, step inside...  But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. It was like he forgot how to even twist the doorknob. He shuffled his feet. Wasn’t he doing something like this yesterday night? Waiting outside Scout’s door like this?

He was having a harder time moving on than even he thought possible.

Pyro stopped and listened for a second. He heard country music from Engie’s workshop. He heard Soldier and Demo laughing all the way from the cafeteria. He heard his own breathing. Nothing more.

Slowly, almost absentmindedly, Pyro opened the door.

Scout was curled up in on himself on the bed, facing the wall. A blanket draped over him awkwardly like he couldn’t quite decide whether he wanted it on or off. The light from the hall barely reached him.

With a shuddering breath, Pyro entered the room. He wasn’t quiet about it either. He let the door swing back and forth behind him and made no attempt to lighten his footsteps. Pure emotion pulled him to the bed, though he couldn’t tell if it was anger or fear. It could’ve been regret. It could’ve been the low crushing feeling that had been lingering in the back of his skull for days now.

Whatever it was, it drove him to shake Scout by the shoulders as if the other man was a ragdoll.  Scout woke up with a half scream stuck in his throat and arms flailing. He twisted himself around and got ready to slug at whatever was attacking him, but his fist dropped before he even threw it. His eyes caught two lenses. The hallway light shined on a black beetle colored mask.

“Py?” He blinked sleep out of his eyes. Pyro just breathed unevenly. “Py... what the fuck?”

“Hhh, Hh dhn’t knhh.”

“You don’t know? What- what is any of this.” His voice was hoarse, Pyro noticed, his lips were chapped. His eyes were as big as saucers.

“Hh dhn’t knhh Schht- Hh, hh-”

“Please, if we’re finally gonna talk about this then take off the freaking mask, okay? Can we do that?”

His voice was mean but to Pyro it didn’t sound mean. He sounded desperate. Pyro lifted the mask up and off, then let it clatter to the ground. “Okay.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Scout said as he tried to get up. He swung his feet over the bed but when he tried to stand his legs wobbled. Instead me motioned for Pyro to get the lights.

Pyro shut the door and hit the lights. Scout blinked at the sudden brightness. Pyro didn’t mind it.

In the light they were both sweaty and nervous. Pyro was doing that lip biting thing that Scout told him not to do every time they met up. He ran a hand through bleach blond curls and shook his head.

Scout was waiting for him to explain himself, and that was just too fucking bad because Pyro had no explanation on why he did that, he just did. That feeling in the base of his skull had grown tenfold and his heart fluttered like a hummingbird in his chest.

Maybe Scout would understand. He had said he was done but maybe he would still understand. “I wanted to see you.”

Scout wet his lips. They looked horribly chapped. “Yeah? Well Prince Charming, you should’ve waited until morning.” He looked down, and played with his hands. “...It’s awright. We need to talk anyway.”

Pyro took that as an invitation. He moved towards the bead carefully, as if Scout was a savage dog, and looked for permission before sitting down on it. He then wiggled out of his suit, pushing it down his body and onto the floor. He was wearing something under there this time, even if it was just a t-shirt and boxer shorts. It wasn’t even his pink boxer shorts- he always got the impression Scout didn’t like those.

“I didn’t wanna hurt you, okay?” Scout bit out like it hurt to say.

“But you did it a-anyway.”

“Yeah I did, I can be garbage, I know but-”

And suddenly the tables had turned and it was no longer Scout mad at Pyro it was Pyro furious at Scout. “But you did it bec-because you were scared! S-scared of the others! You think I’m too d-dumb to know why you really did-did it but I’m not. You did it because you didn’t want the team to think yo-you were like me.”

Pyro waited for Scout to hurl something back, but he didn’t. Much quieter this time, Pyro continued. “Why-Why is being like me such a bad thing? It’s a dumb fear, but why would you fear it in th-the first place?”

Scout refused to make eye contact. “Because you’re a bit looney, Dollface.”

Pyro almost laughed. “Yeah, that’s not what you were w-worried about. You can’t spend months with a guy and not have him p-peg-” he struggled. “Figured out. You were worried you’d be as gay as me.”

He was right, Pyro could tell, by the way Scout’s face scrunched up. “Pyro, I am gay.”

“Sure but you’re afraid of l-looking like it or acting like it. Like m-me. Like a sterio- steryotip-

“Stereotype.” Scout supplied duly.

“Yeah. Yeah that’s it. A Ster-eo-type.” He still butchered the last word. Scout always wondered why he had such a hard time speaking, but never brought it up. Now definitely wasn't the time either. 

“You’re right.” Scout croaked. “You are. I’m scared of being a fag and I’m scared as being as faggy as you and I’m scared of the team treating me like I’m too faggy and I told my mother and now I’m scared of goin’ home and being treated like shit. Is that what you want to hear? Happy now?” His words slurred together towards the end, he was talking so fast.

“Stop saying th-that word.”

“Fag?” He said after coughing into his elbow.

“Yeah.”

“It’s only offensive because it’s true. For the both of us”

“N...No, it’s a bundle of f-fucking sticks, check a dictionary, now _stop_ saying it.”

Scout didn’t reply. Scout didn’t reply for a long time. So long that Pyro had time to take a lighter out and flick it on and off a few times. That usually calmed him down, watching the sparks like little stars shoot out and become flame. It did little to calm him this time.

“Sometimes I hate myself.”

“I know. It’s so-so silly.”

“Yeah, guess it is.”

“I don’t hate you.” Pyro supplied.

Now Scout was looking at him again. The heavy bags under his eyes made it hard for Pyro to read his expression.  “I don’t hate you either,” He stated. “I never did.”

“I knew that.”

Pyro put the lighter down after a few more flicks. He then peered out the window, looking at the night sky and picking out a few of his favorite stars from the bed. “I’m willing to try it again.”

“I think I am too, Casanova.”

Pyro shrugged, “Who’s Casanova?”

Scout allowed himself to laugh a little bit. It sounded hollow. Pyro could tell.

Pyro fidgeted with the lighter in his hands but didn’t light it. “We can only m-make it work if you’re past all this embar... embarrassment shit, you know. It’s my turn to be em-embarrassed of you.”

Scout thought to himself. He didn’t know if he was over it yet. he didn’t know if he was over any of it yet. But, he knew that wasn’t the answer Pyro wanted to hear. “That’s fair.” It felt kinda like lying.

“Good.” Pyro’s voice was solid.

...

After that Scout watched as Pyro gathered up his suit and mask. Before leaving the room he threw Scout a sloppy kiss. He was glad Pyro didn’t actually kiss him because if he tried to kiss back he would just cough in the other man's face.

He still felt like utter shit. The fever was low, but present. His headache grew stronger with each second he stayed up, but something about him felt lighter. He did something right. That talk- maybe he even did it wrong, but Pyro made it right.

However, with a bitterness, Scout admitted that things weren’t all better. They just talked as if things were going to be all better but they wouldn’t be. There was no fix all option. After a fight like that, even with a reunion, this would take time. And, if Scout thought hard, things weren’t perfect before. Someone from the outside looking in would’ve have claimed Scout and Pyro’s relationship was healthy. It wasn’t like Scout didn’t know that. He did.

Most of the bonding happened through sex. Half the time they had been together Scout wanted to through Pyro out the window. He grit his teeth near every time Pyro struggled on a word. But the past couple days, if they taught the young man anything, it was that he needed the other man. Pyro was like a drug. Scout loved him for it, too.

He fluffed his pillows up and checked the clock. It was near one in the morning, but something else on the nightstand caught his eye. It was Pyro’s lighter, warn to the thumb and dented more than what was good for it.

He took it without thinking, and flicked it on. Pyro could do it so fluently. He tried to do it like him. He watched little fireworks erupt out of it like rockets and then catch the gas, creating a flame brighter than he expected. He did it again, watching for the sparks specifically that time. If you were to freeze time at just the right second, they would look like stars, he realized. He did it once more.   
  


Yeah, now he got why Pyro did that so much. He was starting to get why Pyro did a lot of things.

He flicked his thumb over the lighter one more time, and while watching the stars ignite, he thought to himself that he would be able to make it, _them_ , work. He had to. He couldn’t live with himself if he fucked it up one more time.

_So,_ Scout thought almost bitterly as he let the flame die, _just don’t fuck it up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading, really, thanks, and have a fabulous week.


End file.
